


The Beast Within

by FieryPen37



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, First Time, Library Sex, Light Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-06 23:11:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/741275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FieryPen37/pseuds/FieryPen37
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumplestiltskin visits the library during Wolftime to check on Belle, smut ensues. Then, Belle retaliates. Spoilers for Child of the Moon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The swollen moon peeked from behind a wispy mantle of cloud, her scarred face luminous and pale. Even a week prior, the sight would have been unremarkable save for the sheer beauty of it. But now . . . now wolves slinked about in leather and red-streaked hair. But now his heart was walking around in heels under a cloud of chestnut hair. Mr. Gold closed his shop early, under the pretense of protecting his merchandise from angry mobs led by disenfranchised kings. In reality, he made his way through a swirling veil of fog over rain-slicked streets to the library. The padlock gave way under his lock pick with nearly as much ease as magic.

"Belle?" His cane rapped against the scarred linoleum of the library's foyer.

"Rumplestiltskin?" her swift reply loosened the knot of fear in his belly. He rounded one of the bookshelves and stopped short. Slumped against the wall-mounted fire hose, Belle appeared to be attacking a rather impressive set of chain and manacles with a mechanical pencil. Folding both hands over the gold handle of his cane, Rumplestiltskin tried in vain to stifle the surge of blind rage. Belle had confided in him about the conditions Regina had kept her in. Chained to a fucking bed after repeated escape attempts. Whoever had done this would die. As slowly as Rumplestiltskin could manage it. Wild, haunted blue eyes hushed any of bland words that waited on his tongue. The smile she offered was wobbly.

"The library's closed, Mr. Gold. You should come back tomorrow." Rumplestiltskin's answering laugh sounded closer to a cry of pain. His love was so very brave. He mustered a tight grin for her.

"And leave a princess in such peril? What sort of villain do you take me for?" some of the wicked playfulness of the imp lurked in the coolly said words, and from the sudden softness in her gaze, it was not lost on her.

"The chain was meant for Ruby. Charming said the station isn't safe."

"Indeed not. The former King George is leading a mob about town. Complete with pitchforks." Urgent fear darted across Belle's expressive face.

"You have to go and make sure she's safe! She said she _wanted_ to be caught!" Inwardly, Rumplestiltskin marveled. After that _mutt_ chained her to a fucking wall, Belle still feared for her safety?

Unable to stop himself, Rumplestiltskin brushed the back of his fingers down her cheek, soothing her. When had he moved close enough to touch? A handful of dinners at Granny's and a few handholding walks about town did not a lover make. He'd lost that chance, lost her kisses and her love to his cowardice. She just looked so sumptuously beautiful as light from the lone lamp and his own obscuring shadow fought for purchase on her features. So brave and shining and lovely. 

"It's all right, sweetheart. Our Charming friend has calmed the riot. Red is safe. Gus's death is the fault of King George," he murmured to distract her, he himself enraptured by the way the silken blouse draped over her like a lover.

"Poor Gus. But thank the gods it wasn't Ruby," Belle sighed.

Her head tilted, and Rumplestiltskin repressed a shiver of pleasure. In her months at the Dark Castle, he had catalogued each of her gestures and glances. A tilt to the right meant the gentle probe of her curiosity, and to the left meant _flirting_. That one had taken a fall from a ladder to work out, and even then he still had trouble believing it. The tilt to the left was accompanied with the soft curve of her smile.

"Why did you come here, then?" she asked. _Honesty of the heart,_ he reminded himself.

"I was worried. I had to be sure you were safe." And there was the bone-deep thrill of simply meeting her gaze, that startling silver-blue, brave, honest and kind. Everything he'd ever wanted or wanted to _be_ , wrapped up in her eyes.

"If you're here, then I'm safe," she murmured, her face close enough to feel the tickle of her breath on his throat. His coward's heart cringed at the words. How could she have such faith in him, when she'd suffered for decades in his absence?

Striving for lightness, he brushed the cold links of the chain.

"I must say I like your new accessories, darling. Kinky." Belle giggled, a sweet, free sound like the soaring of a brightly plumed bird. Humor and flirtation could salve the horror of memories. He would banish them all, in any way he could. Belle nibbled on her lower lip in a way that made it impossible for him to look away.

"It's too bad Charming left the key at the station." Her chin lifted, rosy lips parted . . . everything in him urged him to feast, to at last slake the ravaging desire she'd built in him. She'd built it and let it smolder, for decades, teasing new flame from the ashes in her innocent embrace in the cool darkness of his home, those precious days after the curse broke, and before his cowardice brought an end to their accord. Rumplestiltskin held back. She wanted courting, did she not? Distance and choice.

"Yes, too bad." His voice was husky, restless fingers stroking her cheek. Yes, it was too fucking bad. Monsters didn't get happy endings, and cowards didn't deserve true love. They definitely didn't get to fuck the love of their bloody lives against bookshelves, no matter how hotly their decrepit carcasses howled for it. No matter how she nestled into his caressing hand like an affectionate cat . . .

"Lucky for you," he purred, "you have a-" A what? Friend? Suitor? Benefactor? None of the words suited. "-A companion who knows a thing or two about picking locks." Lost in her deep, endlessly blue eyes, Rumplestiltskin almost missed her breathless reply: "Lucky for me." One small hand lifted to cup his cheek. Shameless, Rumplestiltskin nuzzled her hand, turning his lips into her palm.

"But is something wrong with your magic?" Rumplestiltskin arched a brow at her.

"I was under the impression that you objected to . . . magical intervention," he drawled, shifting his grip on his cane.

"It's not magic I object to, just your dependence on it. You've used it to push me away before."

"Never again, I swear it," he promised vehemently.

"And you are a man of your word." What had he done to earn her perfect trust, her faith? Lost in her deep, endlessly blue eyes, Rumplestiltskin flicked his finger and the manacle fell from her wrist.The moment stretched on in warm honey-sweet silence, save for the rasp of their breathing. He didn't want to so much as blink, and break the spell. The greedy imp delighted in her complete and utter attention.

"Rumplestiltskin." His name on her lips held its own music; it wasn't the coward spinner or the loathed deal-maker. How was it she knew who he was better than he knew himself? He took in a breath to warn her not to tempt monsters, to beg her not to try his weakening restraint any further.

"Sshhh," she murmured, placing her fingertip over his lips, "how many times must I say it, you fool man? You're not a monster. And I love you."

"Belle," he groaned, fervently kissing her fingertip. Did she have any idea what those words did to him? How it made him ache for her, how he wanted to throw her on the nearest horizontal surface and write his worship on her body with lips and tongue and hands? Rumplestiltskin surprised her by parting his lips, drawing the tip of her index finger into his mouth. Wicked and unblinking, he suckled her finger, caressing it with his tongue. Belle dragged in a gasp, watching him mesmerized. Releasing her with a soft kiss, he pressed her palm over his thundering heart beneath the fine, dark suit.

"Tell me to stop, Belle. Tell me to leave. Please." If he stayed, he would ruin it. This fragile, wonderful thing that gave him life and hope. Trembling hands curled in the lapels of his suit, holding him close. A terrible uncertainty flirted with her cherished features.

"Why? Do you not want me?" The laugh that left him was harsh and low, none of the imp's manic giggle left.

"Not _want_ you? I've loved you forever, and wanted you for longer than that." Honesty of the heart and bloody soul. He framed her face between his hands, his cane lost somewhere.

"No, it's for your sake. If it's too fast, or . . . or you're not sure, if you don't want _me_ . . ." her kiss was swift and sweet and devastating. A metal click drew him from bliss. Rumplestiltskin blinked, finding his Belle had relocked the manacles around her wrists. She was always brave enough for the both of them.

"Gods, Belle," he rasped, shaking with intense, soul-shaking arousal and worshipful awe. His True Love.

Graceless and greedy, he fell upon her with hungry lips, dusting her face with kisses. Seeking her mouth, he feasted on her like it was a morsel of succulent fruit. She opened for him, shy and sweet, the touches of her tongue furtive. Heat pounded through his body, his hard, throbbing cock, his chained magic crackling with joy. Rumplestiltskin buried his hands in her hair—so warm, so soft, like dark, living silk!—cupping her skull, coaxing her with languid strokes of his tongue. He pressed his body flush against hers, tilting his pelvis so she could _feel_ how strongly he wanted her. Her whimpers pierced him, as did the leg she hitched around his. His bold, brave love! Releasing a feral growl, he nudged her back against the shelves, taking some of her weight against him. His shattered leg shrieked with pain, but he could think of no sweeter agony.

As darkly arousing as the chains were, he yearned for her to touch him, to give him her consent with hands busily undressing him. Wandering from her mouth to taste the column of her throat that had tempted him for so long, Rumplestiltskin waved his hand, banishing the chains.

"Touch me, Belle. Touch me," he rasped against her throat. Belle carded her fingers through his hair, wakening sleeping nerves with the faint scrape of nail on his scalp, plucking at the knot of his tie, pushing the weight of his suit jacket from his shoulders.

" _Yes_ ," he hissed, rewarding her by kissing a path down her throat to her breasts. Grasping for gentleness, for the tenderness of a loving seduction, he eased the pearl-topped buttons from their holes, revealing the beauty of her torso to his hungry gaze. A sound emerged from him that didn't sound entirely human, but his worship of her flesh was, if not entirely gentle, then wholly sincere. Gods, she tasted so good, warm and sweet, and so responsive in his arms!

"Tell me, Rumple. Please," her husky plea drew him from the madness of kissing and suckling and grinding. Tousled and half-naked with kiss-bruised lips, she looked like a fallen angel. Blue eyes glittered with that dark haunted look, with a crippling, terrible uncertainty.

"I love you," he said. A shudder raced through her, the beginning tremors of release. Gods, how was it possible? How could she crave those words from him, take pleasure from his touch?

"Please," she begged, rubbing against him, sinuous and supple like a cat in heat. Snarling, he sliced his hand between them. Their clothes pooled at their feet with a ripple of lurid purple magic. Rumplestiltskin grasped her hips, hauling her up against the shelf. Her limbs twined around him, open and trusting. His fingers sought her core, finding a miracle of heat and wetness.

"So wet . . . so wet for me," he purred, curling his tongue around a pleasure-furled nipple. Milah had left him with memories of diamond-hard eyes and shudders of revulsion. But Belle . . . oh, his Belle was so sweetly, innocently hungry for him! Her answering cry was soft, breathy.

"Rumplestiltskin . . . please. Please take me," she gasped, head thrown back.

"Look at me, Belle. Look at me, love," he commanded.

Silver blue eyes pierced his soul and he pierced her body. Sharp fingernails dug crescents into his shoulders, but he welcomed the pain. It took every ounce of his will not to pound into her, or come, or weep with the sheer blinding pleasure of it. Instead he chanted those beautiful words as her virgin's body clasped and adjusted to his intrusion: "I love you, I love you. Oh Belle, I love you so much." So sweet, so hot, so fucking tight.

"Oh sweetheart, I have to . . . I have to . . ." he babbled, rocking inside her.

"So good, oh love, you feel so _good_ ," she purred, her voice dropping an octave as he began to thrust in earnest. Rumplestiltskin lost himself in the plunging, gliding, scalding pleasure, in the feel of her lips kissing him and chanting words of love, in her nails raking his back as release loomed. He wormed a finger between their undulating bodies, seeking that sweet little pearl of flesh . . .

With a stuttered cry, Belle came. Inner muscle squeezed and suckled him, her body shuddering in paroxysms of pleasure. He plunged in once, twice and followed her into pleasure. His crippled leg gave out and he had enough presence of mind to throw magic out to ease their descent onto a love nest of discarded clothes. Belle welcomed him atop her with a sleepy smile. Tongues tangled in mindless kisses, fingers braided, hips arched and rocked, riding out pleasurably intense aftershocks.

"I love you." It didn't matter who said it.

It was True Love, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle retaliates.

Belle still had a problem with closed doors. Whenever she approached one, there was still an instant's residual terror that maybe it wouldn't open. Maybe the curse and the sleepy town and even _he_ were just hallucinations, and closed doors and cold cells were her only reality. But then the door would open and Belle would be alive and sane and in love. The apartment on the library's third floor was small but homey, and its heavy metal door screeched open under her determined heave. Belle decorated the exposed brick walls with paintings of exotic lands and the furniture was rustic enough to remind her of home. It was still early, so she kicked off her shoes and took her treat of coffee and pastry back to bed, snuggling beneath the covers. What she loved most about the place was the fine curtains that billowed and danced with fresh, cold air. Gold had kept the windows open in his home, his own instinctive measure to soothe the claustrophobia that gripped her sometimes. Had he ever been caged? He knew the terrors of it so intimately, the primal need for sun and air to keep it at bay.

_Gold_. She liked his name here, it suited him. Gold: something precious and hidden, something cold and hard, but sweetly malleable under the right touch. His true name had its own cadence and music, and she loved how his eyes seemed to crackle and burn when she said it. Belle stretched languorously beneath her down bedcovers, remembering. Remembering the casual intimacy of his endearments, the misguided gallantry of his words, the naked, aching honesty of his gasped confessions. And _Gods_ , the taste and smell and _feel_ of him! In this world and the last, Belle had never known a man, never loved before him. She had read about passion, of course, and touched herself when dreams woke her with that mindless, hungry ache. But it was comparing a candle's flame to the sun. Even cursed, there had been longing, but longing without form or face, only the taste of desperation and the echo of pain. Those unending years had been hell, mourning and yearning and missing without _knowing_ who she mourned and missed and yearned _for_.

_Do the brave thing, and bravery will follow._ The brave thing had been challenging their fragile love with the weight of intimacy and facing her fear of being tied, _chained_. His desperate confessions of love and earth-shattering pleasure were proof of her success and her deep sleep without nightmares were a step in the right direction . . . hopefully. Gold hadn't lingered last night, but that was due both to his professed desire not to be caught by meddlesome sheriffs and their mutual need for space to think. Before parting, Belle had extracted an iron-clad promise that he was not to harm Ruby for her actions. They had been an unknowing and altruistic impulse. The other woman had not meant any harm. 

For her part, Belle had scarcely slept with all the thinking she'd done. Thinking, remembering, reliving. The simplest conclusion was one of thoughtless greed. She wanted _more_. More of his long, mobile face crumpling with naked arousal into a parody of agony, more of his lean body moving against hers, more heat, more touch, more pleasure. At the heels of this thought came crippling insecurity of the same depth and scope as his. Her Gold, her Rumplestiltskin, he thought himself ugly and unlovable, and Belle, she feared loss.

_I don't want you anymore, dearie._ Those words, said with such scathing insouciance, had branded themselves into her very soul. Belle brushed crumbs from the bedspread, polishing off the last of her coffee. It wasn't true, he wanted her. He said so. Belle's mouth curved into a wicked smile.

There was only one way to find out for sure.

The pink house on the corner lot was worlds away from the Dark Castle. Worlds and lifetimes away, but no less intimidating. Belle crept up the creaking porch steps and felt the familiar lurch of anxiety as her hand closed on the doorknob. Of course he would have the door locked while he was away . . . the knob turned and the door opened, smooth and quiet. A subtle shiver raced over her, a crackle like static electricity. _Magic_. Whatever protective wards he had laid over the house accepted her. She pressed her forehead against the doorjamb, washed in triangles of colored light filtered through stained glass.

"Thank you," she whispered. Like the Dark Castle before it, the house seemed to settle, to _hum_ in greeting. Belle found herself grinning like an idiot. Now all she had to do was wait.

Seeing him last night had been a pleasant jolt of surprise, a rush of heart-pounding happiness that always overcame her whenever she saw him unexpectedly. Now, sprawled on his bed in lingerie Ruby assured her would drive him insane, waiting to see him was a torment. Slanting golden sunlight poured through the windows, washing the floor in amber and the walls in rose. The tap of his cane on weathered floorboards made her heartbeat trip, then take up a new cadence in time with it.

"Belle?"

"Rumplestiltskin," she replied, swiftly, breathlessly.

"Belle, what are you-" the words died on his lips as he rounded the corner and saw her.

His new human face was, surprisingly, more inscrutable than his cursed one. Gods, she loved every sharp angle, she loved the smooth sweeps of his shaggy hair, the secret glinting strands of silver, she loved the deep, warm brown of his eyes now widening, darkening into nothing less than a predatory leer. His long, expressive mouth firmed, a muscle fired in his jaw. Belle found her feet, the same boldness that forged a deal to save her people. Rising onto her elbows into a position that offered her breasts at the best advantage, she smiled at him.

"I missed you this morning in my bed. So I thought . . . I thought I'd come to yours." The molten heat in his eyes softened a little, the curl of his smirk revealing the glint of a gold tooth.

"Really, dearie? How . . . considerate of you. I was just going to pay you a visit. Now that I have you here I think I'll keep you here until I've had my fill of you." A spindle's needle of insecurity jabbed her.

"And . . ." she swallowed hard, "how long will that be?" Some of the playfulness bled from his manner, his eyes velvet and dark and deadly serious. He tilted his head to one side.

"Let's start with forever." Belle sighed, easing back against the nest of pillows.

"Deal." His eyes flashed, a satisfaction she'd seen a thousand times whenever he pranced back to the castle from a profitable deal. This satisfaction was edged with an almost unholy possessiveness, the same covetous draconian instinct that locked away his treasures in an empty castle. He treasured her. He limped toward the bed, hooking the gold handle of his cane over the frame. Deft hands unfastened his cufflinks, heedless of them falling to the floor.

"Rumple?" she asked, dropping her gaze to address the pattern of roses on the quilt, "might we try something?" He blinked, bracing some of his weight on the footboard.

"Of course, love. What would you like to try?"

"You . . . you t--tying me." A painful, livid blush stained her cheeks. Silence answered her and she risked a glance at his face. His eyes were dark and troubled.

"Belle, are you sure?" Gods, she loved this man. This tender lover, this gentle, loving man. She held his gaze unwaveringly.

"Yes. I want this. Erase the bad with the good."

"Yes, whatever you want," he whispered in heartfelt agreement, "Say 'Imp' and I will stop, the bonds will disappear."

"I understand," she breathed.  

The pulsating sensuality he'd wielded so easily last night gathered around him, as thick and dark and intoxicating as his magic.The blue and gold ring flashed in a sliver of sunlight as he waved his hand. Silken bonds snaked around her wrists and ankles, gently tugging her limbs taut. Her surprised yelp was a token protest. There was something delicious about this subversion of imprisonment, this parody of unwillingness. Something utterly sinful about submitting to his every whim. It was a dark, wicked thing that she realized she had wanted since the Dark Castle.

A long finger plucked the dark silk tethering her ankle to the bedpost.

"Much better than chains," he purred, "wouldn't want to bruise that beautiful pale skin." The last words were punctuated by the gentle rake of his thumbnail along the instep of her foot. Belle bit back a gasp at the ticklish jolt of pleasure.

Belle watched with her own possessive greed as he undressed. Last night had been a blur of pleasure and naked skin. She hadn't had the time to look, to wallow in his beauty. The emerald green tie, black shirt and suit jacket melted away to reveal his lean, wiry torso. Her hands itched to touch. Rumplestiltskin's hands faltered at his belt buckle.

"Let me see. You're beautiful. Let me see," she breathed, straining a little against her silken bonds. His hair swayed forward, hiding his face.

"It is an old monster that loves you. A decrepit beast." Belle rolled her eyes, exhaling a frustrated breath through her nose.

"Rumplestiltskin. Please. I love you, I want you. Let me _see_."

Heaving a sigh, he removed the remainder of his clothing. Belle hungrily took in the grace in the form of thigh and calf, the angry-looking scar tissue twisting on his ankle, and the proud, erect cock jutting out before him, red and hard. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Rumplestiltskin followed the motion with something like disbelief.

In the next instant, he was upon her, straddling her, devouring her mouth with mad, ravenous kisses. _Gods_. The hidden joust of silken, gliding tongues, the heat and pleasure of it, trickling down to tighten her nipples and make her womb ache. His hands fisted in her hair, holding her head immobile, controlling the depth and angle of the kiss.

"Belle . . . _Belle_ ," he rasped between his kisses. He arched back, peering down at her sapphire blue lingerie, the corset offering him her breasts and the silken knickers, garters and stockings that teased and titillated. Ruby was obviously right about their effect on him.

"As much as I appreciate the wrapping," he murmured, fingers trailing down the seam of the corset. It was a teasing, insubstantial touch that had her arching up for more contact, "I much prefer the gift." Another terse wave and she was naked beneath him.

" _Yes_ ," he growled. The same grazing touch circled her nipples, making them tighten painfully. Belle gasped, arching. This was passion? This burning, aching feeling, this madness?

"Oh love, oh my love," he crooned, petting her hair. Rumplestiltskin cupped her head and leaned close, the wings of his dark hair blotting out the world. All that existed was his blazing eyes, the moist caress of his breath and the guttural rasp of his accented voice.

"I've waited too long for this. I plan on taking my time. I am a slave to your pleasure, Belle. Let me slake my thirst. Please." The dark red lust tangled with the bright strands of her love for him and she tilted her chin, capturing his lower lip between hers. She nipped him, gently.

"Please, Rumplestiltskin."

What Rumplestiltskin hadn't mentioned was that she could very well lose her mind before he slaked his thirst. He spent several minutes simply _looking_ at her, drawing out an eternity of wanting by memorizing every dip and curve of her. Then the kisses. Oh Gods, the kisses. No curse could withstand the touch of her lips to his, the sheer staggering magic of his hot, skilled mouth mapping paths to pleasure on her skin. Teeth, the gentle rasp of teeth on the skin beneath and behind her ear. Tingling pleasure, anchored by the faint pinch and pluck of dark, deft fingers on her nipples. Oh, she resented those cruel bonds, she wanted to cradle his head to her breast, hold him there until . . . an unexpected orgasm ambushed her, bending her spine up toward that wicked mouth, those clever fingers teasing between her thighs.

"Good girl, that's my good girl," he purred, nudging and nuzzling her face with his nose, dark eyes sleepily happy. Belle whimpered. His praise was as potent an aphrodisiac as his mouth. _Yes, yes, I'll be your good girl. Just give me more. Please, please, please._

"Hush, sweetheart. I won't leave you wanting, I promise." His low, rough voice was tinged with smug amusement. Had she said that aloud?

Callused hands wandered over her skin, fingers damp with the slickness of her pleasure. His mouth returned to hers and she accepted the plunge of his tongue with a grateful sob, sucking in deep breaths of his scent of musk and spice and something like bottled lightning. This was familiar, sweet and wonderful and familiar. The rest felt as if he were undoing her sanity like a knot on a string. Then his fingers eased inside her, curling and finding a spot of unbearable sweetness and sanity dissolved into white, blinding pleasure.

"Oh Belle. You came so hard for me. Let me taste you. Let me . . ."

Belle moaned and writhed against the silk that held her deliciously captive, helpless under the onslaught of his lips and tongue and fingers. The tide rose and fell, higher and higher and _higher_ until she shrieked in the agony and ecstasy of it, muscles knotted and straining.

"Rumplestiltskin, Rumplestiltskin, Rumple . . ." he silenced her chant with his mouth, tasting musky and sweet with her essence smeared on his face. Gently, he kissed the tears that leaked from her eyes, crooning words of love.

"Oh my darling Belle, tell me you're all right. Tell me . . ." His voice was fraught with fear.

"I love you." Her voice was hoarse and weak. His dark eyes swallowed her whole, full of so much love she nearly wept again. Rumplestiltskin cupped her face between his hands, body pressed flush to hers. She loved the rub of naked, sweat-slick skin, his hard cock pressing at her entrance.

"Belle. Oh _Belle_." Her name sounded like it was being torn from him as he slid inside. Belle whimpered, hips thrusting in that sweet rhythm. Her quivering, over-stimulated body clenched and shivered around him, begging him to join her in madness. Once, twice more he plunged home, then erupted with a roar.

They fell insensate in a heap of tangled limbs. Belle dropped a grazing kiss on his sweaty temple, feeling the bonds melt away. She threaded arms and legs around him, cradling him to her heart.

Finally at peace.

Finally whole.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, RumBelle smut. I love it so.


End file.
